


the girl you lost to the wolves

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 04:47:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9532106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He does not deserve it, she thinks. He does not deserve an ounce of the decency they have bestowed upon him, but the Starks are decent people.Hard people, too. Sansa knows this; she's come to accept what she must do. She doesn't rejoice in it, though, even with all that she now knows. She soothes her nerves by looking down at the half-grown wolf pacing alongside her. Rickon's present to her. Such a little thing, she thinks, but little things can be strong too. "Lyanna," she says, when the wolf decides to stray. "To me." The yellow-eyed creature returns to her side.





	

 

_Like Father,_ Sansa thinks to herself as they ride. _You must be like Father._

The day has dawned clear and sweet, and there are fifteen of them in all, with three wolves trotting alongside. Rickon is beside her, and their half-brother--no, their _cousin_ \--Jon follows just behind. The criminal rides between a host of guards, and Sansa never turns her head to look at him. He doesn't deserve it, she thinks. He does not deserve an ounce of the decency they have bestowed upon him, but the Starks are decent people.

Hard people, too. Sansa knows this; she knows what she must do. She doesn't rejoice in it, though, even with all that she now knows. She soothes her nerves by looking down at the half-grown wolf pacing alongside her. Rickon's present to her. Such a little thing, she thinks, but little things can be strong too. "Lyanna," she says, when the wolf decides to stray. "To me." The yellow-eyed beast returns to her side.

Finally they arrive. The square with the iron-wood stump--Sansa has never journeyed here before. She's had no need to. She dismounts, looks uneasily to Jon. He inclines his head a little, but says nothing.

The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword, but Sansa has neither the strength or the training, and Jon is the only one she trusts to do it. Rickon is too young. "Keep it clean," she'd told Jon, "if you can. I know he doesn't deserve it. But keep it clean."

And Jon had looked at her and nodded, perhaps a little sadly. Nothing more had needed to be said.

Now he is giving her that same sad, sure glance. It says, _Yes, you and Rickon are doing the right thing. Yes, this is how it needs to be._ Sansa draws strength from that look, from him. They've never been close, not at all. But now he is one of the only people in this entire world that she has left.

Sansa motions to the guards, and they drag the criminal off his horse. They force him to kneel before the stump, and she just looks at him--looks into the face of Petyr Baelish.

"Do you have any last words, my lord?" Her voice is almost lost in the wind, but it is steady. Little Lyanna leans against her, yawning.

"Only that this is not how I expected things to end," he quips. "You are a strange one, Sansa Stark."

"Will that be all?"

"A little like your father, aren't you?" he teases, even now, and Sansa wonders if he is not quite the coward she's made him out to be. "I never did notice before."

Sansa smiles. "That was your mistake, my lord." She tilts her head a little. "One of many."

"I made mistakes," he says. Littlefinger is still attractive, even in rags, but as he kneels there he seems very small. "But you were never one of them."

_Lies,_ thinks Sansa. _You never loved me. You desired me, you thought you deserved me, you coveted me. That was all._

But perhaps to Petyr Baelish that was love. And Sansa realizes that what she's feeling is no longer fear. It's pity.

"I'd forgotten," he adds, "how damned cold it is up here." Petyr shakes his head. "I'd also forgotten about that girl--the steward's girl--until you reminded me last night, when you elaborated on my so-called crimes. I'd forgotten about her entirely." He pauses.

"Funny, isn't it? What we forget."

Sansa smiles, again, but her blood is running fierce and cold. "You may have forgotten, Petyr Baelish, but the North does not." She looks to Jon, who has just been handed the sword. She gives the command.

The men force Petyr Baelish's head down on the black stump, and Jon steps forward. He glances at Sansa, once. She gives the tiniest, most imperceptible of nods, and he raises the greatsword.

Petyr Baelish looks into Sansa's eyes, and she does not look away.

The blade sings down, fierce and bright. Rickon makes a little noise, mutters, "Too good of a death for him." _My fierce brother._ Lyanna and Shaggydog--they both begin to howl.

And Sansa Stark, Queen Regent in the North, walks away and mounts her horse. She turns the mare towards Winterfell, and does not look back.

 

 

 

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